


White Ribbon

by odiko_ptino



Series: Modern AU [15]
Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: Ares (mentioned) - Freeform, Artemis (mentioned) - Freeform, Gen, Hera (mentioned) - Freeform, Poseidon (mentioned) - Freeform, so murder and assault are referenced though there's nothing graphic, white ribbon day, white ribbon day honors victims of violence against women
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 13:17:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17023302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/odiko_ptino/pseuds/odiko_ptino
Summary: Icarus and Athena participate in a White Ribbon event.





	White Ribbon

Icarus finishes tying the stack in the back of his bicycle and waves at Leroy. The old man waves back, and Icarus climbs carefully on top of the bike and begins pedaling slowly down the road, towards the park. The baskets and bundles of white roses are heavy and make turning difficult, particularly where the sidewalks are covered in slush or ice, but Icarus is fairly well-practiced at this by now.

He’s not working, technically; in spite of his financial situation, Icarus had wanted to do this for free. It doesn’t feel right to make money off of a memorial for murdered and abused women. (He’s told Apollo and Helios that he’s totally on the clock, though, and instructed Leroy and Elverna to tell them the same if it ever comes up, because he’s mostly managed to get them to quit pestering him if he’s earning a paycheck).

A handful of people stop him on his way to the park, buying the roses, but the donations mostly pick up once he gets to the park. There, enough people stop him for flowers that he eventually stops trying to pedal, and gets off to walk beside the bike instead. 

The park is filled with candles and flowers. They’re placed on the short stone walls along the sidewalks, and in makeshift memorials among the trees, sitting on cleared spaces in the snow. People mill around, talking quietly, waiting for the keynote speaker to arrive for the ceremony. This will be at the main memorial, in the center of the park, where a large board is printed with fourteen names:

Geneviève Bergeron

Hélène Colgan

Nathalie Croteau

Barbara Daigneault

Anne-Marie Edward

Maud Haviernick

Barbara Klucznik-Widajewicz

Maryse Laganière

Maryse Leclair

Anne-Marie Lemay

Sonia Pelletier

Michèle Richard

Anne St-Arneault

Annie Turcotte

This board is surrounded with stands containing informational packets and white ribbons that people tack on with the names of other women they know. Icarus’ roses are added to the piles. The donations for the flowers he sells are going to a women’s shelter near the flower shop.

The attack happened a few years before Icarus was born. He has no memory of the shock of the event; and he grew up with the White Ribbon days as a regular part of his life. He notices with a jolt that the women were, for the most part, about the age he is now, when they were killed. 

Icarus doesn’t need his sisters or mother as a sole reason to care about violence done to women, but it’s impossible not to reflect on the risks posed to them. It bothers him to think about them having to worry about things he takes for granted; if he thinks about it too long, he becomes distressed at the idea of some angry, entitled asshole insulting them, assaulting them, killing them – and due to nothing they’d ever said or done. Just the roll of the dice that led to them being women.

He’d asked Elverna about it earlier, while they were tying ribbons around the stems of the white roses. She’s in her sixties (he thinks – he would never ask, of course, but he knows that she was Leroy’s high school sweetheart, and that he’d been caught up in the October Crisis about two weeks after he’d enlisted in the Army), so Icarus had wondered if she thought things were getting any better.

“Without question,” she’d said, “at least around here. You wouldn’t have believed the things that were legal when I was a girl. And at least you can talk about things now. So, it’s changing.” She smiles at him, tying off another ribbon. “And there are so many more young people on board with it now, who don’t want things to go back to the old days. Nice young men like Icarus who care about people!”

He doesn’t feel like he’s doing a lot of good. He’s just a guy wandering around with a bike stacked high with roses. But it’s nice to hear her optimism on the matter.

“Ah, Icarus!” 

He hears a familiar voice, a few yards behind him, and he half-turns to see Athena approaching him. She’s wearing a fitted leather jacket that he recognizes as usually being fully bedecked with pins for causes she cares about. Today, there is only the white ribbon pin. The jacket isn’t really warm enough for a December day in Canada, but she did put on a stylish white scarf. Not that gods are all that beholden to the weather.

“May I exchange some currency for one of your roses?” she asks in her usual precise manner.

“Of course,” Icarus replies, steadying his bicycle with his hip as he seeks out a small bunch tied together with white silk. 

“I had thought you would be here, and I’m pleased to see I’m right,” she says, accepting the flowers and giving him a note and a few coins – he sees owls and Athena’s face on the coins, which isn’t a surprise; and Robert Borden’s face on the note, which is a shock! – but she continues talking before he can comment.

“It’s a nice turnout. Artemis will be glad to see it.”

“Oh – is Artemis here, too?”

“She’s always here, at one of these kinds of events. The protection of young women is one of her domains.”

“Oh.. I was going to say we should go say hi, but she must be busy…”

“Ah. She’s actually here metaphysically, at the moment. But I’ve already alerted her that she should stop by in person afterwards to say hello.” Athena glances at him, and then giggles. It’s an unexpected sound, coming from her.

Icarus gives her a suspicious look, though he’s unable to keep a small smile off his face at her mirth. “…What’s so funny?”

“Apollo had observed that your eye twitches whenever someone discusses our metaphysical duties or presence. And now I’ve just confirmed it.”

Icarus huffs, trying to sound annoyed but mostly sounding amused. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Poor Icarus. Another philosopher, trying to make sense of the affairs of gods.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of trying to make sense of it.”

“You will. Every generation inches closer.” He glances over at that, but the conversation is interrupted by another couple seeking to buy roses, and then another few. Athena stands by patiently and waits while Icarus handles it, then they continue walking their circuit around the park.

“So, uh… is anyone else here? Metaphysically or otherwise?” He says this in as neutral a tone as he can but she makes an unconvincing effort to hide her smile.

“Yes. Several. Hera is here… metaphysically. Her domain is the protection of women as well, though she tends towards matrons rather than maidens. Ares is here in person – “

“Ares? The god of war?”

“Officially he’s here representing the civil order.” She gestures vaguely in the direction of the edge of the park where, out of sight, the counter-protesters – men’s rights activists mostly – are a muffled presence. “He’s prowling around out there, making a point of ensuring they don’t interfere. Additionally, the police and the armed forces of your country have recently made a public effort to intertwine with the White Ribbon cause, which is excellent and another reason for him to want to arrive. They’ll be included in the speakers at the ceremony.”

“Hasn’t Ares always kind of been… a defender of women? Didn’t I read that he went on trial for murder for defending his daughter from a rapist…” Unexpectedly, Athena’s posture stiffens.

“Yes,” she says quietly. “He always was their defender.”

There’s a brief but horribly awkward pause, and then she points in another direction.

“Poseidon is over there somewhere – I mean, in another city. In person.”

Poseidon is an awkward topic for Icarus, considering that he was the one who technically killed Icarus by drowning… but he grabs at this conversational offering eagerly anyway, wanting to move on from bringing up the Ares thing. “Oh? Uh – horses, earthquakes, and – the ocean, right? You’ll have to explain the connection there.”

“No connection. He’s not there officially. That’s why he can’t be there metaphysically; it’s not his domain. He just goes to some of these rallies and memorials around the world, sometimes, on his own. He thinks of it as atonement.”

That draws him up short. He looks over at her, blinking in confusion. “Atonement?”

“Yes. I’m sure you’ve read of some of his misdeeds. I took Medusa’s fate quite seriously.”

Icarus considers this. He feels guilty; he’d always thought of Medusa’s story as primarily god-on-mortal violence, but of course, she was raped by a male god. He wonders if this is one of his blind spots as a man; only seeing things as they relate to him. Mortal women must have been doubly targeted. And then to have monstrous children, sometimes, and from the sounds of it, the ancient Greeks weren’t exactly supportive of the victims… and of course, there were the gods, always part of the world, always in power, always a reminder.

“It’s nice that he’s trying to make up for it,” he ventures. “Even if wasn’t until a long time later. Better than never caring at all.”

“Well, we do change,” she says, giving him a glance. “Even gods are capable of regret.”

Icarus is rescued from having to say anything by the announcement that the ceremony is about to start. He and Athena walk over to the memorial and stand quietly as the snow falls and the candles give off tiny flickers of light, and the white roses cover the ground and the short wall surrounding the memorial. 

He doesn’t want to give too much thought to this right now, but her words linger in his mind, mixing with Elverna’s thoughts from before. Things are changing; even gods are capable of regret. It’s possibly the most optimistic he’s felt all night that things aren’t as bleak as he’s thought.


End file.
